Badger Kaizokudan: The Seas of History
by CaptainBadger
Summary: With the Kingdom of Oz adventure safely under their belt, the Badger Kaizoku-dan prepare to set sail once again; but for those who want to know from where these ramshackle rogues originated, this is the place for you! Original Characters, OnePiece Univer
1. E01C01: The Blighe Pirates

So, while my accomplice and partner-in-crime, Arachna D Seth (Hertz) writes the Ferris Island arc, this is what I shall be doing: The Seas of History. This arc will cover each of the original 6 crewmembers; their origins, their encounters, and one or two smaller adventures before the start of the Kingdom of Oz arc. Enjoy!

As usual, One Piece is owned by Eiichiro Oda, but all original ideas, locations and characters are owned by Myself and Hertz. This arc is going to be written by us both, but Episode One will be written by Richard Carr exclusively.

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**Badger Kaizoku-dan: The Seas of History**

**Episode One: Horatio Badger**

**Chapter 1: The Blighe Pirates**

"Duck and Cover!" roared a hoarse cry from the Crow's nest, moments before the first cannonball's impact sent showers of splinters cascading over the ship's deck. Luckily, the iron sphere had only hit the wooden fence barricading the edge of the ship's form, the bulk of the sleek black craft remaining undamaged for the time being. All around the open deck, pirates of all natures flung themselves to the wooden ground, as the next array of cannon fire was announced with a volcanic thunder.

With an almost mystical distortion of reality, the cannonballs seemed to hang suspended in the air for a moment, supported purely by their own presence before the scene resumed, and the iron spheres continued on their course towards the centre of the deck; the opponent's cannoneers had adjusted their measurements in accordance with the last near miss, so that this volley was aimed with deadly precision.

As the cannonballs fell, a darting blur of orange fur rushed across the wooden framework of the ship, leaping from raised surface to raised surface, until tiny obsidian claws were aiding its ascent of the central mast of the ship. One more leap and the squirrel was gliding through the air, passing winds caught easily within the flaps of furry skin spanning between its arms and legs. As it soared, its body began to twist and contort, growing larger by the moments as beady black eyes took colour, clawed paws twisted into fingered hands, and orange fur thinned slightly, revealing a toned, slim body through the mass of hairs.

Landing on the closest cannonball, the pirate redirected its path with a flick of his body, leaping from it as it careered into the azure sea; he spread his limbs again in order to carry him onto the next sphere. After three such diversions, however, his initial momentum was spent, and instead of leaping majestically onto the fourth ball, he could do nothing but simply fall.

"I'm out!" he shouted, loud enough for the other crewmembers to hear, before morphing back to the pure animal form and gliding seamlessly into a shadowed corner.

The final three cannonballs closed in on their target, but each was swiftly dispatched by a different source; the farthest from the centre of the ship suddenly jutted to the side, falling calmly into the ocean, a simple wooden arrow piercing it perfectly through its diameter; another acquired a small hole in its centre where a rifle bolt had pierced it, which seemed to grow of its own accord, as if it were being eaten away from the source, until there was nothing left at all.

The final cannonball, however, was taken out in a much more dramatic fashion; as it neared the frail wooden deck, its flight path seemingly stopped dead as it collided with the flat head of a large metal hammer. The hammer, although held in one hand only, didn't budge an inch, the iron ball dropping harmlessly to the deck with a soft thud. A soft hissing sound pervaded the air. Raising his hammer to eye level, the burly man who held it admired the weapon; its head was so clean, he could easily see a reflection of himself in it; an ageing, yet unchanging face, who's hair seemed to grow from the wrong place, as endless curls of the brown locks protruded from his chin, but none could be found upon his gleaming bald skull.

Turning to look over his shoulder, the man's mouth stretched into a wide grin.

"This hammer we bought sure is a piece of work, Cap'n Blighe," he said, his voice as hard and reliable as the metal he held in his hands, "I sure am glad you let me keep the bastard!"

"Enough of that language, Vercix!" replied the figure who stood at the prow of the ship, "and I let you have it as you would put it to its best use. Don't disappoint me now."

For a moment, Vercix observed his captain with a warm smile; the small, slight figure was one from whom you would not expect a powerful command, but something about him let off an air of unquestionable certainty; he was in charge, and that was all there was too it. His short brown hair was hidden beneath a large tricorn hat, the brim of which lay a shadow over his face; although not one large enough to obscure his piercing green eyes. The exact nature of his physique could not be identified, as his torso was covered by a thick navy blue jacket, the shoulders adorned with golden tassels. Leather boots hid his feet, the legs of dark blue trousers tucked into their tops.

After an elongated moment of pausing, Vercix returned to the task at hand.

"Right you are, Captain!" he grinned, turning on his heels and running towards the edge of the ship. Stepping up onto the guarding fence with one easy step, he flexed all the muscles in his legs, and launched himself from the deck, the impressive leap setting him in easy stead to clear the gap between the two ships with ease. As his parabolic arc decayed, he fell towards the enemy cannon that lay furthest on the left, and began to swing his hammer, slowly curving the metal weapon through the air. Enemy pirates moved to stop him, but the unexpectedness of his manoeuvre and the swiftness with which he had made it left all their efforts in vain.

As the hammer's head approached the cannon's side, a single word erupted from the man's lips with the solemnity of ten hungry lions chasing a heard of gazelle.

"_**IMPACT!"**_

With an unearthly ringing sound, an invisible blast with the power of a cannonball accompanied the hammer's own momentum, and collided against the cannon's side. Wrenching it immediately from its secured position, the cannon spiralled madly across the deck, taking three more cannons and a fair few unwary crewmen with it on its journey before it punctured the side of the ship, and spun into the depths of the ocean. With a wild smile across his face, Vercix pushed himself backwards and dove into the sea, making his way steadily back to the Blighe Pirate's ship.

It seemed that even this extravagant attack left the bulk of the assailant crew unaffected, however, as the pirates soon rallied together and prepared another assault. Having observed this through a pair of bronze binoculars, Blighe lowered his arm and let out a pitying sigh. Turning his attention to the crow's nest, he addressed another of his crewmen.

"Torei, establish contact," he said, his voice carrying easily through the air. A gruff shout of "Aye," confirmed the order, as the tall, slight man atop the mast readied another arrow, notching it into his bow as he took aim, letting it loose barely a second later. The arrow cleared the distance in moments, lodging itself neatly in the mast of the other ship; once its movement had ceased, a string could be clearly seen tied around its shaft, an odd looking shell hanging from it.

Curiously, a pirate who'd just had a near-miss encounter with this particular arrow grasped the shell in one hand, running his thumb over its smooth surface. After a few moments, to his absolute surprise, a soft 'click' from the shell's base prompted a voice from its heart; the more learned amongst them might recognise this device as a Tone Dial, but whether or not they did mattered little, as the message was what was important.

"Will you just leave us alone already?" came Blighe's voice from the shell's depths, "We're just trying to make it to port in time for a cheeky pint before sunset."

Back on the Blighe Pirate's vessel, Torei's voice floated down from the crow's nest.

"What happens now, Cap'n?" he asked; his voice still as rough and unemotional as before.

"We wait for a response," Blighe said simply, his arms crossed neatly behind his back. After a few second's reprise from the mayhem, the sound of igniting gunpowder hailed the next volley of cannon fire from the ship's few remaining cannons. Although unsurprised, Blighe let out a disappointed sigh.

"Someone fetch Jihmon or Walt, and let's finish this," Blighe said authoritatively, "and where the hell's my First Mate?!"

While emerging slowly from the shadows, a small, redheaded boy who couldn't be out of his teens replied to the captain's order.

"Jihmon's in his deep sleep phase, and Walt's got a monster of a cold. As for the First Mate, I haven't a clue, Captain."

"Blast it all," Blighe cursed, as the sound of heavily forced water indicated the initial volley's failed attack. The second fire wouldn't be so unlucky.

"Get Walt here, and we'll do what we can!" he ordered. Without hesitation, the boy disappeared into the belly of the ship. A few moments later, another figure shuffled through the open doorway.

His physical features would remain a mystery, as his entire body was wrapped tightly in a thick feather quilt, held in place by one hand as he shuffled across the deck. His face was drooping and an ominous shade of yellow and thin slivers of watery slime ran with all their might from his nostrils. His breathing was heavy and staggered, as if every breath caused him more effort than it was worth.

Despite his somewhat comical appearance, Blighe spoke to him as plainly as he would in any other situation.

"Walt, use your Devil Fruit power to end these fools so that we can make it to port." He said, indicating the enemy vessel with one hand. Opening his mouth, Walt attempted to reply, but all that could be managed was a breathy whimper, the noise barely loud enough to be heard by even the most perceptive of creatures.

_Damnit, _thought Blighe, _he can't make a goddamn sound, so his ability is useless. _Blighe knew how invaluable Walt's power had been in the past; the power to amplify any sound he made as much as he pleased. In this situation, however, such an amazing ability was rendered completely obsolete; a problem only intensified by the roaring cannon's fire a moment later.

"Prepare for impact!" cried Blighe, moving from his position and moving swiftly across the deck, "and for the love of God, someone get this man a lozenge!"

All over the deck, the crew scattered themselves in preparation for the next assault, while the bedraggled Walt tried his best to clear the gunk obstructing his throat. A few times, he opened and closed his mouth experimentally, getting little more than an exhalation of air, but little by little, as the cannonballs approached, his attempts were becoming more successful.

And just as the cannonballs were mere feet from his body, his lips parted, and the seas shook. Although it would be a weak sounding noise normally, it's amplitude was so great that the noise itself became irrelevant, the deafening roar laying waste to all other sounds in its path. The two cannonballs seemingly shook in the air for a moment, before shattering into a shower of metal filings, dropping to the vibrating deck, unable to cause damage.

The sound waves were so devastating, that they shook the ship to its very core; and the opponent's equally so. However, while the Blighe's ship had only sustained superficial damage, their opponent's was torn and battered from the battle so far, and the enormous vibrations simply exacerbated its condition. Screws and planks worked their way loose from broken fixtures, rope wound its way loose of knots and ties, and within moments, the ship seemingly dissolved into an intangible mass of debris.

Closing his mouth, Walt dropped to the floor; face now beetroot red and sweating from exertion. After a few moments, the crew's sense of hearing buzzed back from deafness. Blighe let himself smile as he observed the defeated opponent's ship. It wasn't until a moment before he turned away, however, that he noticed the grappling hooks looped around the mast, and the waterlogged pirates climbing swiftly upwards from the ruins of their ship.

_Will these fools never give in?_ Blighe questioned internally; however, any fears he may have held in that moment were instantaneously quelled, as an object buzzed passed his head, sweeping majestically through the skies. The boomerang curved in a perfect arc around the mast, the blade attached to one side slicing the ropes free of their claim, and leaving the pirates to fall back into the ocean's embrace.

"Nice of you to finally join us, First Mate," Blighe said, without turning to face him.

"Sorry, Captain," said Horatio Badger, wiping the sleep from his eyes with one hand as the other gripped the handle of his newly returned weapon, "What did I miss?"


	2. E01C02: The Predator's Gold

**Chapter 2: Predator's Gold**

"Prepare to weigh anchor lads," Blighe shouted from his position at the head of the ship's prow, a broad grin sliding effortlessly across his features as he lowered the bronze binoculars from its position in front of his eyes, "we're approaching the Predator's Gold!"

Roars of celebration rose up all over the ship, as the assembled men of the sea began to dart this way and that across the deck, preparing the vessel for its temporary vacation at port. Walt had now descended back into the ship's depths, leaving the outside world to its own devices as his illness disabled his willingness to stay active. Vercix was back on the deck once again; having shaken the last of the lingering seawater from his features, he set about his designated tasks on the ship. As for Badger, a few cutting words from his captain proved repentance enough for failing to aid their battle. Slowly, he took his place at the captain's right hand shoulder, a small smile playing upon his lips as their destination grew larger and larger upon the horizon.

"'Bout time," he growled with anticipation, "I could do a hard drink and a good round of Poker..."

The Predator's Gold, although relatively unknown amongst the vastness of the world's seas, was a prime-time location of interest within the borders of the West Blue; the world's first ocean-residing Casino Resort. As you'd expect from such a place in the current age, its decks were lined with thieves, villains, and most predictably of all, pirates. A place where you can get your games, girls and grog cheap and easy; a place where the laws of the land mean little, and the House reigns supreme; and most importantly of all for the narrative of our story, a frequently visited location of the infamous Blighe Pirates.

A few moments later, and the Blighe Pirates' ship, the _Pinnacle, _was sliding gently into one of the few available spaces amongst the floating resort's bustling port; even on the _Pinnacle's_ busy deck, the sound of assorted lowlifes going about their daily business overwhelmed anything that the rowdy pirates could concoct. After securing the ship in its position, the pirates fell in line in front of their captain.

"You know the drill, lads," Blighe started, "Leave your weapons on the ship, try not to start any fights you can't finish, and be back by sun-up!"

With the conclusion of his brief statement, the pirates let out a joint roar of celebration, dropping their assorted weapons to the deck as they vaulted over the railings, landing in rapid succession upon the wooden flooring of the port of the _Predator's Gold._ Badger remained where he stood for a few moments more, scanning over the_ Pinnacle_ whilst Blighe surveyed his rapidly departing troops.

"What about Jihmon and Walt?" Badger asked, spotting a few telltale tissues across the deck that reminded him of his bedraggled comrade.

"I'm sure that if anything significant were to occur," Blighe replied after a moments consideration, "then Jihmon would be easily awakened. Then our only concern would be the welfare of the _Pinnacle_."

"True enough," Badger mused, performing a final check of the ship's exterior before approaching the edge of the deck, "Shall we?"

"After you, Horatio," came the response; the first mate wasted no time in following the command, gripping the wooden railing and launching himself onto the awaiting boardwalk, splintering a plank or two upon landing. A few moments later, Blighe landed gracefully by his side, one hand placed upon his tricorn hat to prevent it blowing away with his descent. Without further hesitation, the pair began along the path that their peers had ravaged mere moments before. It took only the better part of a minute to reach the official entrance to the resort; a great wooden arch, lacquered with a golden sheen, the words "Predator's Gold" carved into its form in smooth, curving letters.

An icy chill ran down Badger's spine as he passed through the gateway; no matter how many times he entered the seafaring casino, he never quite got used to the feeling. On either side of the entrance, two men stood in stoic silence, arms crossed across their chests, plain black suits covering their whole bodies, with gloves on the hands and sunglasses over the eyes to mask any note of their humanity. They stood like statues, surveying every entrant to the resort with unspoken judgement, watching every man who left with suspicion. It was a rare occasion to see the Security in action, but they were the undoubted reason that no-one messed with the House and won.

However, once past their iron gaze, the atmosphere reverted to its previous manic state, and then some! The noise was near-deafening, the combined sounds of both the boisterous crowd and the ringing and clinging of active slot machines, roulette wheels and clattering dice washing over the corridors of games machines like a blanket of decibels.

"If you wouldn't mind now sir," Badger started, rubbing his palms together in anticipation of the night of pleasures that lay ahead, "I think..."  
"No need to explain, Horatio," Blighe interrupted, "Feel free to take your leave."

"Cheers, Captain," he grinned in reply, taking a quick moment to observe his surroundings before marching determinedly towards the most important of all locations within the complex: The Bar.

After a few minutes' walk, he arrived at his destination, and was immediately met by a familiar face; Vercix stood at the bar, two pints of ale sat frothing in front of him. A swipe of his arm across his bearded face removed a layer of foam from his lips, indicating that he had already consumed one drink himself.

"Take your time, Badger," he said sarcastically with a wide grin, sliding one of the two drinks across the bar to his nakama. Badger happily accepted the charge, raising it up in one hand.

"Cheers," they said in unison, linking their arms together at the elbows. They touched their tankards together, before putting them to their respective lips, pouring the liquid into their gullets. Neither removed their arm from the link until their respective tankard was empty. Badger's tankard slammed back onto the bar barely a second before Vercix'.

Expelling a quick burst of gas from his system with a loud belch, Badger wiped away the excess liquid from his chin with his sleeve.

"You'll never have me beat in a drinking contest, Vercix!" Badger boasted, before turning to the barman and adding "Same again!"

"You're a thousand years too early to be making that assumption, matey!" Vercix responded, before wiping away his own excesses as the barman refilled their pints. As soon as the tankards were refilled, their competition resumed again, both pirates finishing their next pint in equally impressive speed. Badger, once again, emptied his tankard a few moments before Vercix, beating a clenched fist against his chest in the hopes of alleviating some more of the built up gas in his system.

After another lengthy belch, Badger signalled for another tankard of ale, before addressing his comrade in a non-competitive way.

"So where is the night taking you, friend? Fancy a hand or two of Hold 'em?"

"With you?" he responded, accompanying Badger's gaseous uproar with another of his own, "I'd rather take my chances on the slots."  
"What do you mean?" Badger queried, taking the now-filled tankard back from the bar, "It's all luck; I've got no more chance of winning than anyone!"

"True enough, but you know the tricks of the game," came the reply, "I've only played a few friendly hands amongst the crew. Not the same standard as one would find here."

"Well, suit yourself!" Badger concluded, taking a swift swig from his drink before turning to leave the bar, "You know where to find me if you need."

"And you I!" Vercix added, as he brought another foaming pint to his lips.

After purchasing an appropriate number of chips, Badger forced his way through the bustling crowds until he found what he sought; an octagonal table, surfaced with green felt, and positions marked out for 7 players and a dealer; at this particular station, 4 seats remained unoccupied. As the players were half way through a hand, Badger approached the table carefully, placing his chips down at an available seat, and awaiting the start of the next game. In the brief moments he had before his gaming night commenced, he took a quick look at each of his to-be opponents.

To his direct left sat an entirely unimposing figure, clad in nothing more than khaki trousers and a plain white shirt, a pair of wiry spectacles perched atop his nose, his body seeming to have less meat to it than a wafer thin slice of chicken. Beside him was an empty seat, and next to that sat the dealer. To the right, the circle started with an unoccupied space, to whose right sat what could only be described as a stereotypical gangster; pinstriped suit, fedora, black leather gloves and cigar in the side of his mouth; judging by the substantial pile of chips on the table in front of him, it seemed that he was currently winning.

Besides this man was another empty seat, leaving the final opponent directly opposite Badger. He took very little note of the man's physical features, acknowledging only the white jacket which adorned his shoulders, the blue seagull motif stitched carefully onto the lapels. _Is no place sacred? _Badger muttered internally, flicking a few chips into his hand, preparing to buy his way into the game, as the current round's cards were laid down. A few deadpan words from the dealer, and the marine's lips curled into a smile, much to the gangster's displeasure. _Excellent,_ Badger thought, _a reversal of fortunes; the perfect time for a new player's entrance._

Throwing the ante buy-in over to the dealer, the pirate took another deep swig of his ale, and prepared for the first hand of the night.

•••

A few hours and a few more tankards later, and the table's fortunes seemed equally distributed. The unimposing figure to Badger's left had been bought-out by the high-flying prices the other players were displaying, having left the table long ago, and no one seemed prepared to approach the game of obviously fine players. Between Badger's cool head and the marine's seemingly continuous stream of good hands, they had closed the gap between them and the gangster, whose cigar appeared to be taking the brunt of his anguish. Paying the ante once again, the pirate waited patiently for his cards, picking them up from the table soon after they'd arrived. It seemed that fortune was smiling upon him with this hand; a pair of jacks; diamond and spade. Considering his options, and the 200,000 beli ante, he thought it worthwhile to at least attempt to buy-out any weaker minds; or at least make things a little more interesting.

"500,000 beli," he said firmly, flicking a number of chips into the centre of the table. With little more than silent smirks, his opponents matched his raise, prompting the arrival of the first three cards into the centre; two fours and a king. _Blast, _thought Badger, cursing his fall in favour from lady luck's affairs. However, two more rounds were still to come before his fate was sealed. Rapping his knuckles against the table, he indicated his 'check', passing his turn onto the marine. When he looked up from the cards, Badger noticed an unusual glint in his opponent's eye; although apart from this, his 'poker face' was outstanding. _This doesn't look good..._ he thought, woefully.

Almost as a confirmation of his worries, the marine shifted a small pile of chips towards the centre of the game.

"2,000,000 beli," he announced calmly. Looking momentarily frustrated, the gangster pushed forward an equal claim. Thinking it unwise to hesitate, Badger decided to flirt with the luck some more, forwarding the appropriate number of chips. A moment later, the next card was placed; the jack of hearts. He still had a chance! He took a moment's pause for thought, before coming to his conclusion: If the marine wanted to play the high stakes, then play the high stakes he would.

"5,000,000 beli," he said, the chips rolling as one to the centre. There was another moment's pause, before the marine spoke once again.

"20,000,000 beli," came the response. The gangster matched. Although the entire resort remained in constant uproar, the silence surrounding the table was deafening.

Badgers pushed triple his original bet forwards, raising his stake to the bar. The last card fell down on the table. The silence heightened.

Badger smiled besides himself.

"10,000,000 beli!" Badger exclaimed, moving another mountain of chips to the centre; one lone chip rolled away from the rest, falling smoothly across the face of the Jack of Clubs.

"25,000,000," the marine raised. With an indignant puff of smoke, the gangster placed his hand face down on the table; the indication of a folded hand. A quick mental calculation of the pot came out to just over 103,000,000 beli; a formidable count. Badger was also well aware that he had the highest possible hand. No harm in heightening the pot some more.

"30,000,000" he announced, raising his chip-count to match. The marine was momentarily taken aback; no doubt attempted to discern whether or not Badger had the balls to bluff this far.

"How much do you have left, Pirate?" questioned the marine; the first meaningful speech of the game. This caught Badger off guard slightly; in his experience as a gambler, it seemed a rather rude question to pose. However, he reasoned that there would be method to this madness, considering the accomplishment the man was making. Taking a moment to eye up his pile of chips, Badger responded;

"Something in the region of 75,000,000," he said, "Why do you ask?" The marine seemed to have got the answer he was looking for, motioning behind him with a flick of his wrist, prompting action from a subordinate stood a few feet back from the table.

"How about we increase this wager, pirate," he said, a wry smile creeping across his lips, "you place down all of your chips, and I'll put forward a treasure of a different kind."

As the last of his words floated into the air, his subordinate placed a small wooden chest upon the table. Taking a key from his neck, the marine undid the metal lock, and prised the lid open. Badger did not recognise the object he revealed at any more than face value; an oddly coloured fruit, whose purple skin was adorned with a series of swirling grooves. _What the hell, _he thought, _I'm in need of some food, and it's not like I'm gonna lose out._

"Deal!" he announced, pushing the entirety of his pile to the centre, "Show your hand!"

With an oblivious smirk, the marine placed his cards in the appropriate manner; revealing a pair of kings.

"Full house," he announced, his voice laced with an underlying malice. Moments later, any air of smugness that may have surrounded him was wiped clean.

"Four Jacks," Badger announced, reaching forward and hoarding in his winnings. The surrounding crowd shared a joint inhalation, as the clinking of chips against chips rang out around them. After securing his meaningful winnings, Badger picked up the small chest in one hand, before plucking the fruit out with the other. With barely a moment's pause, his teeth tore a chunk out of its side, chewing for a few moments before swallowing the mushy mixture of fruit flesh and saliva.

"Tastes like shit!" he said through a few wads of spit, before throwing the rest of the vile fruit into a nearby waste bin, "Fetch me more ale, I need to budge this goddamn filth!"

Nothing moved for twenty feet in every direction of the table, and the world stood in silences. The ignorant pirate had no idea what he'd got himself into.


End file.
